Who Said Locker Rooms Weren't Appealing?
by kake1
Summary: Stan and Gregory are in the locker room at the same time, and who knows what could come from it? M for language and content. Written by K, reviewed by J. c:


"Marsh."

Stan turns around to see the source of the rude and rather irritating greeting. He already knows who it is when he looks, but he's never been more displeased to see his face. Gregory Williams, the source of his childhood angst. Boy, this kid still wasn't giving it up, was he? Stan greets him with his fancy, prissy, 4.0 grade point average last name. He proceeds to roll his eyes and head off to his side of the locker room. It's a rather desolate area. The benches are piled with dirty towels from fellow athletes, and the floor is decorated with various articles of discarded, forgotten clothing. The lockers are a dark blue, just like their new jerseys, and the inside is practically a cube, so Stan sees no reason to use it, other than to put deodorant and his Nikes in it. Stan is fond of the Nike Company. They bring back memories of his Scause- The one he still keeps in a secret compartment of his desk at home.

He thinks about this while he searches for his boxers. Mysteriously, they have gone missing. He frowns, deep in thought about this, until he feels a hard shove from a lean boy.

"Did you hear me, Marsh? I said you're blocking my way," says the accented boy, as pretty as ever, in all of his wet, and shining glory. He smells nice, but feminine, and in a way, that's a bit of a turn on. Stan likes guys who smell feminine but aren't, but he hates Gregory. These problems with him spawned when they were just eight years old, barely old enough to really feel hatred. He remembered it clearly- The way he intruded.

"My name is Gregory, and I come from Yardale with a four point oh grade point average," Gregory said. "You're a fucking faggot, dude," he recalled Cartman saying. Since then, he had held Wendy Testaburger prey with his entrancing ways. At **eight.** Stan was also able to recall how he had said to him, "I knew this was a job for a man, not for a boy such as yourself.", or something to that extent. Whatever, it was most definitely butchered in his mind. Still, the more he thought about it, and the more he looked at this lean, but almost cool figure, the more enraged he got. He didn't suppose he would say anything to Gregory, in fear that he would come up with something witty and make him seem like a fool.

Meanwhile, the locker room had cleared, and it was just these two high school boys, standing, staring at each other like fools. The tension between them was almost palpable, and if anyone were close enough to see this little showdown happening between them, they may have said something like 'Fight!', but since no one was around to see it, they wouldn't get to hear it.

"Excuse me?" Stan says, raising his brow at the blonde, fair-skinned boy. He has nice skin. It fits around his cheekbones nicely, and most definitely accentuates his pretty little jawline. "You heard me, Stanley," he says, knowing that Stan hates his full name being used. Stan scowls at the mention of his wretched name. "Call me Stan, if I didn't hate you, you'd be screaming it," he tells the boy, who raised a plucked brow. Gregory plucks and waxes and shaves, everyone sees that about him. He doesn't try to hide it either. Come to think of it, Stan notices that he never tries to hide his general gayness. He wonders why. Isn't that embarrassing for him, when the rumors of him and Christophe surge? They were all untrue, of course, because Christophe had this unhealthy obsession with Kyle. He wished he could get Kyle back for ditching him for Christophe. Maybe Gregory was the way to go.

Gregory gives him that smug smirk, as if he knows what he's thinking about. Stan sighs, rolling his eyes at Gregory. This kid is fucking ridiculous, really. "Looking for your boxers?" he asks, coolly, and Stan, for a moment, almost thinks that he was just wondering. Stan sees that look in his eyes, though, and he knows that Gregory is up to something. Stan's hands are on his neck and pushing him against the locker within a second, faster than you could say 'sexual tension'.

"Get your filthy hands off of me," he says, in clear disgust. His perfectly sculpted nose wrinkles up into a rather ugly mask. It fits his ugly personality, Stan thinks. "No," Stan is not quick to reply, but nonetheless, he does reply with a short, quick, negative answer. "Where did you put my clothes?" he asks, raising his brow. "Silly, silly boy, I only hid your boxers, not your entire wardrobe," he says, with a small laugh that drives Stan insane every time he hears it. It makes him want to punch something, so he does. This time, he isn't going to hold back his anger. He nails Gregory right in the sharpest part of his cheekbone. "Where the fuck are they, Gregory?!" he asks, angrily, spitting in his face while he does so. Gregory seems to take no notice to the boy's anger, and instead, wipes his face off and glares. There is a bruise blooming on his cheek, now. Stan likes it; it almost acts like a bronzer. He bets that Gregory wears bronzer—his cheekbones can't be **that** sharp. He tightens his grip around the graceful neck that belongs to Gregory, and suddenly, before he knows it, the tables turn.

The boy from Yardale has him in a hold against the ground, which surprises Stan. How did he manage to get him on the ground so quickly? Right… He's a mercenary, and Stan seemed to have forgotten that. Stan notices that Gregory's towel has fallen off his skinny hips, and left his bottom bare naked. Stan couldn't deny that he liked what he saw, especially those hipbones that were so very prominent. It was like the skin had to stretch to fit over those wicked bones, and it did. He also notices that Gregory is half hard. This strikes Stan as odd, because what they been doing that could have gotten Gregory to this point? Stan takes this all in, and Gregory certainly notices.

"Like what you see, Marsh?" he asks, although it is very clearly rhetorical. And although it is rhetorical, Stan licks his lips and nods. Gregory moves, oh god, he's just so graceful, to sit on his waist. Stan rolls his eyes and huffs, trying not to think about the pressure that now sits on his waist. Gregory leans forward, and maybe he's not trying to be sexy, but he is. He's still damp from his shower, and Stan thinks that's his favorite part about this meeting, that he just looks so clean and so much like a pussy. Suddenly, his hands are holding Stan's wrist, pinning them over his head. Stan's breathing is hitched, much to his displeasure.

"I'm going to fuck you, Marsh," he decides.

Stan agrees to this lovely revelation in his plans. Perhaps it was something he subconsciously wanted for a while, and now he's getting what he wants. Stan leans his neck up as far as a human being can, before he gives up, and feels his head hit the tiled flooring. Gregory smirks at the sound of skull knocking ground, and he then leans down to press his wet lips to Stan's. Gregory works with Stan's lips, prying them apart and pushing them together with his own, until his white teeth come out and pull on the plump, pink bottom lip that belongs to Stan. That is when Stan lets out his first groan from this horrible turned pleasurable meeting. He pulls his lip away and slides his tongue into Gregory's mouth, letting their tongues and saliva mingle. He refuses to be dominated by this boy. Stan sits up, ignoring Gregory's noise of complaint that he overcame the hands on his wrists. Stan is lapping inside of his mouth, now, tasting him in every crevice, every corner of his mouth, and boy, is he enjoying it.

Gregory makes noises of protests to Stan's sudden claim in dominance. His fingers glide down his shoulders to his nipples, where he pulls and rubs them until a breath comes out from Stan. He's pushing his chest into Gregory's hand, much to blonde boy's satisfaction. Stan won't let him win just yet, thought, and his hand goes for Gregory's cock, which has gotten harder since he last saw it. He lets his fingers trace the veins that lay there, lets his hands cup his balls, and hears the moans that emit from the lanky boy that is still on his waist. If Stan wasn't hard before, he was now. He was so immersed in the fact that Gregory was basically whining for Stan. The thought makes Stan smirk, and he pulls away from Gregory's lips, onto his sharp jaw line. He licks and sucks and kisses, before he moves onto his ear and sucks that, too. Gregory's moans are louder with every wet kiss, and Stan can't help but push his free hand under his towel and to his cock, where he pumps himself slowly. Stan isn't always partial to masturbating, but this is one of those times where he feels it necessary and very acceptable, and Gregory notices. He doesn't do anything to help Stan, but he notices. "I think I'll be the one fuck you, Gregory," says Stan with a vicious snarl to prove himself, followed by a bite on Gregory's neck that draws blood. Stan likes blood—he likes it a lot.

Gregory nods and smacks his lips together. It doesn't take very long for the two to be humping each other like dogs in heat, before Stan decides that they're going to fuck, and they're going to fuck now. He pushes his fingers into Gregory's mouth without warning, and while Gregory does coat them very graciously, he bites them, teeth grinding against the skin. He worries about the consequences of having blood in that place, but whatever, he's had worse. Stan realizes this. "You better be fucking clean," he tells him, before pulling his fingers out and teasing Gregory's hole with his wet finger. Gregory shudders and releases a moan that must have been progressively building up in his chest, because it sounds desperate, and is very loud. Stan smirks and pushes it in, feeling Gregory immediately push back on his finger. He allows Gregory to move up and down, thrust against his finger, until he is sure that Gregory is comfortable with two. He hates Gregory, but thinks he's sexy. He hates Gregory, but would never want to break his ass. Three fingers in and Gregory's moaning like a bitch, clutching Stan's shoulders and begging him to fuck him. How could Stan deny him the feeling of the ultimate ecstasy?

Stan pushes in, and for a moment, all is tense and quiet, except for the sound of hard breathing from the both of them. Stan falls back, resorting to leaning on his elbows and letting Gregory do the work. Neither move for the longest time, preferring to let themselves both adjust. Stan, to the hot, tight heat, and Gregory, to the large mass that has suddenly split him in half. The pain is unbearable, almost. Gregory hasn't bottomed in a while. As soon as Stan adjusts, he's thrusting without Gregory really giving him permission. Stan goes harder and harder, much to Gregory's delight, and soon the two are reduced to a moaning heap, in which they're both starting to sweat again, Stan himself covered in a light sheen of the salty bodily fluid. This mad, nervous, practically public sex goes on for a good two minutes, before Stan shoots his load right into Gregory, and Gregory shoots his onto his own stomach and Stan's as well.

It takes a while for them both to regain their composure, and when they do, it's not because they wanted to.

They heard someone else in the locker room. Someone who sounded like they were laughing. "Shit you guys," said the voice, and it was easily distinguishable as Kenny McCormick. "Here I was, up and thinkin' that you two were the worst of enemies, and I get greeted by this lovely duo havin' at it."

Gregory and Stan never speak of that incident, but still sometimes meet up to reenact that day in the locker room.

Who said locker rooms weren't sexy?


End file.
